


i hope again one day to hear you sing

by bellairestrella



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2020-01-11 08:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18427070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellairestrella/pseuds/bellairestrella
Summary: David never sleeps anymore.





	i hope again one day to hear you sing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **wicked_music** as part of the Cookleta Hols Christmas 2009 fic exchange. I'm just archiving this here.
> 
> The lines that David and Cook say near the end (particularly the line "let go, it's alright, 'cause there's beauty in the breakdown") are shamelessly stolen from the gorgeous song "Let Go" by Frou Frou.
> 
> The title comes from the song "A Bird's Song" by the amazingly talented Ingrid Michaelson. 
> 
> First and foremost, I would like to thank the brilliant and lovely **Pri** for looking over this and giving me such wonderful (and totally not nitpicky, ahem) feedback on it. And a million thanks to her also for assuring me that this wasn't (isn't) a huge pile of fail. So. Thank you so much, dollface! You are a lifesaver. Secondly, I would like to thank (very belatedly because I'm a forgetful idiot) the wonderful **lire_casander** for not only organizing this amazing fic exchange, but also for being so patient and understanding with me (especially when I was being so annoying about my deadlines). Muchas, muchas gracias, chica!

David never sleeps anymore.

 

It eludes him these days. Even when he closes his eyes with the intent of dozing off eventually, he ends up lying awake until dawn breaks.

 

He doesn't ( _can't_ ) remember the last time he last got a decent night's sleep. It's too dangerous to go down that road. Once he walks down that path, there's no turning back.

 

(He knows that all too well.)

* * *

He rarely smiles now.

 

His eyes, once so bright and _alive_ , are now dull and quiet. His laughter sounds dead and broken, even to his own ears. When he sings now he's careful not to tax his voice – it holds only the barest silver of the power it used to have.

 

(He can't put his heart, his soul, _everything he has left of himself_ into it, because it's all gone, it disappeared when –

 

He stops that thought there before he even tries to finish it.)

* * *

Slowly yet steadily, he begins to stop _feeling_. With nothing (no happiness, no peace) to guide him, his singing becomes a lie, an act. He learns to fake his performances, to pretend that he's putting all his pain, his hope, his _faith_ into every word he breathes out.

 

No one notices how numb he's become. They don't see that he's like a robot, functioning purely on autopilot. They don't see the spark of joy, of _life_ that was ever present in his eyes gradually being extinguished.

 

Nobody ever notices because David fools them all. He lets them believe that he's his usual happy, dorky self, that he's _normal_. He's careful to ensure that his invisible mask is on at all times – one slip up and everyone will be able to see through all the cracks.

 

His father is a different story.

* * *

Jeff silently watches from backstage, assessing each note that bursts forth from David's throat. He cringes inwardly when he witnesses the boy offer the audience a plastic smile and hollow laughter in between songs. He hates that his son has been reduced to this, a living, breathing marionette controlled by David's own hand. He's now a mockery, a fake version of himself.

 

As he sees David give another bright, empty grin to his fans, Jeff's heart breaks a little more, and he's filled with a new, stronger resolve.

 

_I can't let him hurt himself like this. Not anymore._

* * *

When the concert is over, Jeff beckons David to join him in one of the dressing rooms. Once the door is closed behind them, Jeff steels himself for what's about to come.

 

He clears his throat and looks at David, who's watching him inquisitively. "David," he begins. He hesitates, then cuts to the chase. "You can't keep hurting yourself like this."

 

David immediately stiffens. "I don't know what you mean, Dad. I'm perfectly fine," he insists, offering a small ( _fake_ ) grin to prove his point. "I just wasn't focused 100% on doing my best, and I'm really sorry. I'll remember next time."

 

His father's heart utterly breaks at this statement. "David –"

 

"It's better this way," he says quietly. His eyes silently beg Jeff not to push it further.

 

After a minute, Jeff acquiesces. "Alright," he says finally. "Alright." He waves his hand, telling David that he's dismissed. With a nod and a grateful smile in his eyes, David leaves, shutting the door behind him.

 

Once the sound of his footsteps fade away, Jeff sinks back into his chair with a heavy sigh and buries his face in his hands, all the while pondering what to do next.

 

 _It's not better this way, David. It's far worse. Don't you see that?_ He wonders despairingly.

 

Just then his phone breaks the silence with a piercing ring. He fishes it out from his shirt pocket and almost drops it when a thought occurs to him. After a moment's pause, he nods resolutely and flips open his phone.

 

_Time to take some drastic action._

* * *

After he exchanges good-byes with the caller and hangs up the phone, Cook closes his eyes and exhales deeply in an attempt to calm down and make himself stop trembling. Whomever he thought would be calling him at this time of day, one definite thing he knew was this: he sure as _hell_ had not included Jeff Archuleta on that list.

 

A half hour long conversation later, he still isn't sure what to make of it. Why would his boyfriend's ( _ex-boyfriend_ , he corrects himself with a slight wince) father call him after he had, according to said father, "corrupted" his son and then proceeded to break his heart? Why would he call Cook at all?

 

Cook knows the answer to that last question. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and tries not to think about David, but it's to no avail. Even after such a long time, his memory has a perfect image of the boy (the smile that outshines the sun, the quiet eyes that know more than they tell, the contagious laughter that always brings a matching grin to Cook's face, the sheer _vivaciousness_ that radiates from him).

 

He's pulled away from his thoughts when he hears the front door slam and Andy's voice call out, "Honey, I'm home!" He smirks to himself and is about to answer them when Andy and Neal stride into the living room (to be truthful, Andy strides and Neal swaggers).

 

When he sees them, Cook's grin widens. "Welcome back, snookums." Neal cracks up at this while Andy looks at his friend incredulously. "Who are you and what have you done with Dave?"

 

"Very funny, Skib," Cook says, chuckling. "Aliens haven't abducted me or anything, don't worry."

 

"For once Andy has a point though," Neal says suddenly and narrowly avoids a smack upside the head. "When we left you were sitting here being Mr. McMopeypants and shit. Now you're looking like Christmas just came early. Either something extremely shocking and wonderful happened or…" Neal's voice trails off, his eyes widening. "Dave. Don't tell me. You got laid!"

 

Cook laughs slightly at this, but doesn't confirm or deny it.

 

"Okay," Andy says slowly, "if you didn't get a nice time in the sack...what happened, man? I haven't seen you smile like that ever since Ar –" He stops when Neal shoots him a warning look.

 

Cook exhales. "It's not really something that made me happy…but rather the connotations of it." He shrugs.

 

"And in plain English that is…?" Andy prompts him.

 

"You guys aren't gonna let this go, are you?" Cook shakes his head bemusedly.

 

"No," Neal and Andy answer in unison. They look at each other and grin before turning their attention back to Cook.

 

The other man's mouth twitches slightly at this and he scratches the back of his neck nervously. "The thing is...Jeff Archuleta actually called me."

 

Andy and Neal's reactions are unanimous. "What. The. Fuck." Neal says eloquently.

 

"I thought you weren't going to talk to him after he was a jackass to you?" Andy gives Neal a glare and motions for Cook to go on.

 

This time Cook's laugh is hollow. "That's just it. I couldn't not. He gave me a very good reason to talk to him again."

 

His friends look shocked upon hearing this, but they say nothing.

 

He sighs quietly and continues. "He told me that Ar – David's not doing well. He hasn't been doing well since – you know." He waves a hand carelessly. "He never sleeps. Or smiles. Or, god, even laughs. His voice is not as strong as it once was – it's taking all he has just to belt out a single decent note. And he doesn't – he's not _himself_." Cook stops, shudders and goes on.

 

"Jeff called me because he wants me to help David." He draws in a shaky breath. "He wants us to get back together."

* * *

_"I know I've made a lot of mistakes, so many that I can't make up for." Jeff's regret is clear in his voice. "And I know that I have no right to ask you this, after all I've said to you." He pauses._

_Cook is silent, knowing there is more that the other man needs, **wants** to say._

_"To be honest, I think you're the best, the only person I can ask." Cook's breath is stolen from him at this declaration."I just want David to stop hurting. I can't let him destroy himself like this."_

_"And if you don't want to do it for me…" Jeff pauses again. "Do it for David. Please."_

* * *

When he's finished recounting the conversation, Cook is surprised to see the knowing looks on Neal and Andy's faces.

 

"So what are you waiting for, man?" Neal says finally.

 

"Carpe diem, as I always say," Andy quips.

 

"You don't always say that, Skib," Cook says with a smirk.

 

"Seriously though," Andy continues, as if Cook hadn't spoken, "this is your chance to make things right between you and Archie."

 

Cook smiles ruefully. "I think it's too late. It's been a year since…" He trails off. "He's probably over m – it now."

 

"That's a chance you have to take," Andy says gently. "Besides, you don't want to spend the rest of your life regretting the past or wondering what would've happened if you hadn't tried to help him. The both of you are miserable without each other. Now it's time you guys let yourselves be happy."

 

"He's playing at Midland Theater Tuesday night," Neal chimes in. "8 to 10." He doesn't say anything more, letting the information speak for itself. Silence reigns for a few minutes while Cook takes it all in.

 

Finally, Cook clears his throat. "Thanks, you guys," His voice is hoarse. "Just. Thank you."

 

"Don't mention it," Andy grins.

 

"No, really, don't," Neal says, deadpan, and the three of them laugh.

* * *

When he sees David come onstage, Cook forgets to breathe. It's worse than he'd thought – so, so, so much worse. And he feels himself break, little by little, at this epiphany. Even from he's sitting, near the back of the theater, he can clearly see the drastic changes.

 

He notices the same things that Jeff witnessed – the fake smile, the empty laugh, the missing spark in his eyes. And he discovers something else, much to his horror – David's singing has become an act. It's turned into a macabre performance, a subtle form of torture that David willingly subjects himself to. The notes are pitch perfect, and the emotions are there – they're just not David's own. They're not real, raw, _honest_.

 

( _Like David used to be_ )

 

Cook doesn't notice the tear that glides down his face after David's last song.

 

It's not a tear of joy.

* * *

Suddenly he feels a tug on his shoulder and he almost yells in surprise until he realizes who it is. Then his voice dies in his throat. Jeff doesn't say anything, only beckons him to follow. So Cook does, and tugs his baseball cap down further as they leave the main theater. Eventually he's led to a dressing room and it's there that Jeff leaves him, giving him a nod in acknowledgement before he walks away.

 

When he's gone, Cook fidgets for a moment before gathering the courage to open the door. He almost stops breathing when he finds that David's already there, seated on a sofa near the center of the dressing room, brow furrowed in concentration as he studies a stack of papers in his hands. _Must be lyrics_ , Cook thinks.

 

The boy doesn't even look at him when he comes into the room and shuts the door behind him. "How was –" He begins, then stops abruptly when he senses that it's not his father who just entered. His eyes shoot up to focus on the other man and _dear god_ Cook's not ready for the onslaught or the way those hazel orbs pierce through his soul.

 

"Cook," David breathes, the word coming out strangled. "What – what are you doing here?"

 

"Thought I'd stop by and see you," Cook says easily. "And catch up. It's been a while, Arch." Saying _that_ nickname again, after an eternity, leaves a bittersweet taste on his tongue.

 

(And he tries not to notice the sad ( _real_ ) smile that crosses David's face at being called "Arch.")

 

"Yeah," David replies. "It's good to see you," he says after a couple minutes of uneasy silence have passed.

 

The corners of Cook's mouth quirk up in a sad smile. "Wish I could say the same." He sees David flinch at this. It's barely noticeable, but it's there. "I didn't come here just to exchange pleasantries though." He backs away from the door and takes a few steps in David's direction. When he's close enough ( _but not too close, or else he'll completely shatter_ ), he stops, draws in a breath and looks at David with dark eyes full of anguish. "What's going on, Archie?"

 

"I don't know why everyone keeps asking me that." David laughs lightly. "I'm perfectly fine. Nothing's wrong." He shrugs half-heartedly.

 

"That's bullshit and you know it." Cook's voice is rougher than usual, tainted by anger, self-loathing and sadness. "Everybody else might not see it, but I do. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice, read it in your scream disguised as a smile. I know that you're lying."

 

A twisted grin forms on David's lips. It looks so ugly, so _foreign_ , marring his beautiful face. "You know nothing, Cook. So don't even act as if you understand my feelings." He stands up and walks toward the door, clearly done with the conversation.

 

Except Cook grabs his arm rather roughly and twists him around so they're facing each other. After a terse silence, Cook finally murmurs, "But I do know you, Arch. It wasn't easy for me either when you broke up with me. It still isn't." He lets go of David's arm but is careful not to close the scant inches of space that remain between them.

 

When he realizes that David's not saying anything, only watching him with a guarded look on his face (and _fuck_ , that hurts, knowing that David doesn't even trust him now), he continues. He focuses on the floor, not wanting to meet those eyes just yet. "I can't stop thinking about you. You're all I see, all I hear." He laughs softly; it's empty, harsh.

 

(Just like his own laughter, David notices, and at that moment his soul _aches_.)

 

"When I wake up in the morning your face is my first thought…everywhere I go the wind whispers your name in my ear…and the last thing I see before I close my eyes each night is you." He looks up from the floor and meets David's gaze. David inhales sharply and looks away, unable to accept _that_ look in Cook's eyes directed at him.

 

(That look of unbearable, intense pain, regret, hope and _love_. _No_ , his mind chants. _No, no, no_ –)

 

Undeterred, Cook carries on. "I – just. God, Arch, do you even know what you do to me? Every time I look at you, I can't form a single sentence. I become completely useless at the English language. Fuck, I just forget to _breathe_ when you're around."

 

"You – you can't," David's voice trembles. "You can't just _say_ those things, Cook, and – you _can't_." He's shaking his head vehemently in denial, willing himself not to trust Cook's word.

 

"Oh, believe me, I can," Cook replies confidently. "And I will. I'll say them for the rest of our lives if that's what it takes. Until you have no choice but to believe me." He gives David _that_ look again and David feels the last few shreds of his resolve crumble into dust.

 

With a choked half-laugh, half-sob, David closes the distance between them and finds himself immediately enveloped in Cook's warm arms.

 

"Let go, Arch," Cook says quietly. "Let go. It's alright."

 

( _'cause there's beauty in the breakdown_ , David finishes.)

 

So he does. He relinquishes every thought, every emotion, every piece of his soul that he'd buried deep in his heart, and allows himself to be free, renewed, _alive_ again.

 

Cook lets him hold on, and doesn't let go, even when the last of his sobs fade away into oblivion.

* * *

After a minute has passed, David raises his head but doesn't disentangle himself from Cook's arms. Cook senses the mood shift but doesn't let go of him either.

 

"I have a confession to make," David says suddenly, moving away slightly so that it's easier for them to talk.

 

Cook quirks an eyebrow curiously and David has to restrain himself from giggling at how ridiculous he looks. "Oh?"

 

When David's eyes meet his own, Cook swallows audibly upon seeing the spark of joy, of _life_ in them once again, and waits patiently to hear what the boy has to say. He doesn't have to wait long.

 

"I never stopped loving you," David whispers. And before Cook even has time to react, David kisses him.

* * *

That night David falls asleep listening to Cook's heartbeat beneath his ear.

 

(He can't imagine any better way to sleep now.)


End file.
